


A First

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-17
Updated: 2005-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-27 00:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12069852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: The first time Brian says Justin's name in bed is not exactly how he imagined it.





	A First

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Author note: Saw this as a challenge ages ago somewhere, and I couldn't shake a less romantic more Kinney version of how this first time would go down... so here it is. Enjoy. XOX Tinkabelle

* * *

**Justin’s POV**

Okay. Imagine my life. St James Academy, beloved son whose mum calls ‘special’ and father actually claps on the back. Literally. Claps me on the back. A boy made his mum hand drawn cards on her birthday when he was a little, and she actually keeps the fucking cards, sitting there on her dresser. A boy who, once he becomes a man, is going to go to business school, and be just like Daddy. 

 

And now I’m holed up in my lover’s bathroom while he’s fucking in the other room. 

 

Things certainly change.

 

Okay, so he doesn’t know I’m in here. And I’m sure if I went out there he’d… what am I saying? Brian Kinney stop? In the middle of sex? That’s like saying: Justin, stop chasing Brian Kinney around like he’s the fucking last piece of cock on earth. Which is pretty much along the lines of saying, hey, everyone should, you know, just stop smoking? It’s expensive, it makes your hair smell like crap, and really, it’s slowly killing you.

 

Yet, there’s still people smoking, I’m still chasing Brian Kinney, and needless to say, I don’t think anything could stop Brian Kinney in the middle of sex. 

 

So, I probably don’t need to explain to you why I’m here. 

 

But I will.

 

Because I’m an idiot. 

 

I go to the door for perhaps the hundredth time to peek through the crack I opened slightly when they started, just to check, against the proof that my ears are hearing, if they’ve stopped. And they haven’t. Brian’s on his knees and he’s got his hands on this tricks legs, and these are some serious legs, hardcore muscle man legs that could crush you, pulling the guy up and down his dick. This trick is literally about six times the size of me, and he’s got his hands up on the wall, taking it from Brian like… hell, like I do. Head rolling back, eyes wide, panting for more. 

 

And I can see the side of Brian’s face; his head leant back slightly, swaying with his movement, the muscles on his back rippling. I close my eyes, and look down, but it’s terrible, it’s like a terrible movie that you can’t stop watching, even though you know the bastard with the knife is going to be just around the corner.

 

I can tell Brian’s going to shoot soon. I can see it in the way his movements are starting to jerk. Accompanying the moans is the unusual generic bullshit. You know, oh yeah, fuck me, harder, harder, faster. It’s like a universal language that really is just saying one thing.

 

I’m getting closer. 

 

I press my knuckles against my lips and watch the guy Brian’s fucking lurch forward, one thick hand grapping Brian’s arm just above the wrist. Brian isn’t looking at him, eyes closed, lips parting, mouth falling open.

 

“Fuck, Justin.” And he comes. 

 

Rewind that.

 

Fuck. Justin. That’s what he said.

 

And it’s like everything in me froze. 

 

His head falls slightly forward, and he lets it hang for a second, and then he rolls it, adjusting his shoulders as he groans, and pulls himself out of the guy. He stands up, all long legs and naked, tossing the condom in the bin.

 

I do hear what he says though I don’t register it. He’s telling the guy to go. Telling him to put on his clothing. Standing there, wet and beautiful, naked in against that dark window. 

 

With my name on his lips. 

 

My name.

 

When he shoots, he says my name. I can feel the dazed smile on my face, and I can nearly imagine how I must look, infused with this knowledge, for it seems to pulsate in my blood.

 

I hear the loft door slam, and I wait. Watching Brian. Brian pulls on his low slung jeans, without bothering with boxers, wiping the spunk of his chest with a tissue. He’ll want a shower, I know that, and I don’t want him to walk in and find me here. Watching him. But I can’t move. He pats his pockets and pulls out a cigarette. He goes to light it, and then pauses, and smiles ruefully to himself.

 

He only smokes in the loft these days after sex.

 

And he knows I know that.

 

He pulls on a shirt and pads out of the apartment, not bothering to slip on shoes, and I smile, my fucking Sunshine smile or whatever he named it, even though there is no one to see it.

 

He said my name.

 

Quietly, I follow him out of the apartment, and go to wait on the stairs, so that I can arrive home and find him in the shower. 

 

And he can say my name as he comes. 

 

**Brian’s POV**

 

It had been a good fucking day. Made a few people’s lives uncomfortable at work, no crisis from Linds or Michael, no obligations other then the gym and the week was over. You’ve got to love Fridays.

 

And the fuck I brought home from the gym. 

 

What? Some people say a glass of wine before dinner, I prefer a quick fuck. Each to their own. 

 

This guy was fucking hot. Legs like a goddamn boa-constrictor. Not that boa-constrictor’s have legs… but you get what I mean. Watching him doing sit ups at the gym had nearly made me forget the manager said she’d kick me out if she found me fucking in the sauna one more time. 

 

Breeding bitch.

 

I figured Justin wouldn’t be back from his outing with Daphne till way past dinner. The brat was going to watch some speech or other by someone who cared about some cause or another and to get all righteous with a whole lot of damned university students that didn’t have anything better to do with their time then drinking, fucking and talking politics. 

 

So I brought the guy back to the loft, which I’ve got to say, is always impressive. This place is amazing. Beautiful polished floors by cleaning lady that comes every Friday morning, expensive furniture and just generally classy as. Like me. Hell, if I walked into some guys place and it looked like mine, I’d get down on my knees and suck him off in appreciation. 

 

Which of course was what I let Billy-Bob (okay, so I forgot his name) do as soon as we got into the apartment. I dropped my pants at the bedroom steps and let him get to work. And he did a decent job too. 

 

But that was just preliminary. As soon as I’d seen this guy, rippling muscles and bulging in all the right places, I knew exactly what I wanted to do to him. Sometimes I get that. I can just picture in my minds eye exactly how I’m going to fuck a guy. I think I got that with Justin, the first second I saw him under that lamp light. 

 

Premonitions from god. I wonder if Michael would consider it a superpower. I might ask him.

 

“I’m gonna fuck you till you scream,” I said charmingly to the guy, already knowing what was coming next.

 

“I’m a top,” I pushed him back on the bed and gave him an unfazed smile.

 

“Not today you’re not.” I just stood there, condom in one hand, lube in the other, waiting. 

 

I think he could just tell this was one argument he wasn’t going to win. 

 

And I could tell he was going to love it. Not just because all the guys that bottom for me know it’s worthwhile, but because he was just one of those guys. Those big burly tops that really, just want to get fucked like the rest of the queens. 

 

I liked how thick his legs were, the strength in them. And the hugeness of his hands. Justin’s hands aren’t like that, though they are some of the most talented hands I know. I smiled briefly at that thought, getting into the rhythm. Its funny how those thoughts sometimes flicker through your minds at these times.

 

Billy-Bob was groaning like his goddamn pet dog had died, but I was really getting off on the sight of him wriggling beneath me so I let it pass. Sometimes, when guys start doing that talking thing, you know, faster, harder, slower, rougher, it pisses me off. I just feel like flipping them over and going, look, buddy, I know what I’m doing, so could you just shut the fuck up and let me get on with it. 

 

I’m more of a swearer myself. If my walls could talk, they’d probably just sound like they had a compulsive swearing problem. Actually though, I’m usually pretty quiet in bed. That’s something that not many people know about me.

 

How could they? They don’t stick around long enough to understand what’s usual for me.

 

I was getting there; the pressure was starting to build up. And that’s when I heard it.

 

The squeak of the bathroom door. Again.

 

This time I couldn’t ignore it. I felt my movements slow down for a second as I strained my ears to listen over Billy-Bob’s groans, and I heard the little sigh. His annoyed sigh.

 

Justin was in the bathroom.

 

I grimaced in annoyance, closing my eyes. 

 

Fuck. He’d come home early. The bastard should have just cleared out before me and big thighs had started. But no, the little shit had decided to stay for the show. 

 

Fine.

 

He wanted to be the voyeur; I’d give him something to watch. And then I’d kick his ass when I was done.

 

I shifted slightly so that Justin would have a better view, and got back to what I was doing. I would be damned if I let my teenage lover spoil my Friday night fuck.

 

And then, like I always do, I got completely lost in the moment.

 

And I started moaning under my breath, punctuated by an occasional swear word. I could feel how hot Billy-Bob was getting under me. Fuck I was close, and fuck it was good. 

 

And that was when it happened. 

 

I closed my eyes, so close, about to come, my breath short, and I felt the person under me lurch forward, their come on my chest, and I knew I was going to come. It felt so good, so goddamn good and beautiful, that warmth around my dick, that place.

 

“Fuck, Justin.” 

 

And I came. 

 

The orgasm swept away the immediate mortification at what I’d just done, but not for long. The word was ringing in my ears even as my body was coming.

 

I felt every bit of pressure from the week draining from my shoulders, a low, guttural groan of gratification escaping from my lips. Finally I opened my eyes, pulling myself out of the guy I was fucking, already forgetting his presence. I stood up, stretching my legs, lulled by the post orgasm warmth. 

 

But not lulled enough not to know that Justin had heard me.

 

“Alright buddy, time for you to go.” I said, chucking the used condom in the bin. 

 

“That was great,” The guy said, pulling on his clothes. I waited, naked.

 

“Yeah,” I replied dispassionately, sucking on my lower lip. 

 

“I’ll see you round?” He said, in a way that was a question, and I nodded as a sort of ambiguous reply, looking away.

 

I didn’t bother to see if he closed the loft door properly after himself.

 

Fuck. 

 

I did not want Justin to come out of that bathroom, knowing what he had just heard. I felt one hand clench, and reached for my jeans. I realized the guy’s come was still on my chest, and wiped it off with a grimace of disgust. 

 

Shit I needed a cigarette. 

 

I refused to turn around; though I knew in a minute I would have to. I’d have to tell him his little game was up. I would start yelling at him, for invading my privacy and I don’t know. I’m sure I’d think of the appropriate insults. I also knew that he’d take it, my yelling, my berating, with that smug look on his face, not giving a shit what I was saying. 

 

Because of what I’d said.

 

Because that one stupid word slipped out of my mouth. I shake my head, smiling in annoyance. One stupid little word. Goddamn it. 

 

Why hadn’t he come out of the bathroom and gloated yet?

 

And then I smiled, pulling out my cigarette.

 

Because he’s Justin. Private school, momma’s boy, Justin. Who can spend about three hours sucking me out of my mind and yet blushes when some guy gives him a dirty come on. And hates buying condoms. 

 

And he doesn’t want to admit he watched me fucking some other guy. 

 

He was embarrassed. 

 

Well, I’ll let him off the hook, just this once.

 

I’ll take my ciggy outside, thank you very much.

 

And give him just enough time to sneak out before I come back and jump in the shower.

 

Then I’ll fuck him to bed without dinner.


End file.
